Break
by Lil' Monk
Summary: To heal is to offer a friendly hand? Especially for one whose years are numbered, complications have increased, and is torn between choices. Susumu and Sōji come to an understanding. Hajime, however... Saitō Hajime x Sōji, Hijikata Toshizō x Sōji.


**Disclaimer**: Kurono Nanae owns the Peacemaker series. I pay non-profitable fanficcing tribute to her skills.

**A/N**: Setting is just after volume 3 of the 2nd manga series "Peacemaker Kurogane". Contains possible spoilers for volume 5. A suitable song for Hajime, Toshizō or Sōji here would be "Room of Angel" from the Silent Hill 4 OST, music-wise.

Italics denote thoughts or memories.

_((Break: Is also synonymous with respite, beginning of something, ruin, separation, disruption, an end, or crash of waves on the shore and then collapsing into surf.))_

**Break **

One hand rests on plain paper of the shoji panels. The other reaches forward… and stops in mid-air. He can smell the familiar whiff of burning tobacco, even if he can't see it. It's a comfort that one clings to, as the wick of the candle grows shorter. How many times has he done this? Wanting to advance through that last bit of distance, yet fearing to do so, because… What a despicable weakness.

_Susumu-san knows, but that can't be helped. Enough. How many more people do you want to burden with your selfishness, Okita __Sōji?_

As usual, the noiseless murmur of reasoning wins, and causes him to recover in time-

"…Sōji?"

There's a multitude of choices. He could run in and collapse as the dam of secrets finally breaks, or he could run away, or he could always pretend he was never there. However, those are cowardly possibilities that do not even have time to solidify in his considerations. For there is a code he cannot forget, not when it is ingrained by the two men he respects more than anything in this world: Kondō-san and… another, whom he has promised never to shed tears in front of again.

"Hijikata-san, still awake? I'm going for a walk because I've got too much energy on this wonderful night, so don't let me distract you from your work!"

Then he is walking past as quickly and smoothly as possible, before it becomes apparent that merry teasing does not match the rare expression.

Just as the Vice-Commander looks out, the other man has vanished around the corner. Frowning and removing the pipe from his mouth, he sighs. One of these days, he is going to ask Sōji what's going on. If possible, that one has become even more amiable and cheerful, so much so that the others are happy for the first unit captain.

But Hijikata Toshizō is not. For he's seen so many masks and worked at perfecting one for himself, that he knows: The stronger the disguise, the greater the motivation… and it is never due to pleasant inspiration.

0o------------------------o0

"Sōji, should you be out here? You haven't recovered from your cold and with this chill, maybe you should stay inside?"

"Shinpachi, there's no fun in that! Besides, Saizo will get irritable if he stares at four walls all day."

"Woah, you really inspire loyalty in that pig! He'll never be pork chops but your trusty vice-captain, what with such protection-"

Laughing at Sano's comments, even as Tetsunosuke is eager to interrupt with an account of his recent exploits, the little gathering of people standing around the fire in this courtyard to roast sweet potatoes is a sight that the Commander will never be tired of.

Moreover, that Susumu is interacting on a somewhat friendlier basis with people, as Ayumu would have wanted. Lately however, the ex-spy's attention seems to be centred on Okita Sōji, even when he appears not to be looking at the man in white. Why? And if it is possible, he might be the first Shinsengumi member that Sōji dislikes? There is an indefinable undercurrent between the two that cannot be comprehended, and judging by the irritated expression on Toshi's face, he has picked up on it too.

In fact, the tension is difficult to miss with frequent examples like this.

"When you finally retire back inside, don't forget."

Despite a cool tone, the content of the message hints of concern. However, it only earns the aloof speaker a quick glance and for a moment, there is something almost ugly in subtly up-tilted eyes- No, he must be imagining it. Is he, Kondō Isami, worrying too much over nothing?

"Don't worry. The sweetness of these potatoes cannot erase that. In fact-"

There is a short pause.

"I'm thirsty. Would you all kindly excuse me?"

Turning around, the slender youth leaves the group. Saizo looks around, squeaks once and trots off after his master.

Looking at the back of a retreating figure, Kondō is about to ask Toshi something when he sees the way his comrade is almost glaring at the Shinsengumi's latest medical practitioner. And so quiet is the vice-commander's certainty, that everyone else does not hear it, "Medicines for a cold that does not abate? Or is it for a cough that no longer remains in my imagination?"

Now Susumu is the one who is asking to be excused. He is no longer the only crack in the dam. The burden is lightened, but what rushes in to take its place is almost as unbearable.

Guilt.

0o------------------------o0

It's a beautiful night, so peaceful that the twinkling cheeriness of every star is clearly defined. Halting in the backyard of their headquarters, leaning against the well that everyone uses for washing their face, he-

_StopSTOPstopstopohnoplease-_

One hand clamped over the mouth, he is attempting not to give in to his shame but with time, it has strengthened beyond his control. Just like the hollow rattle that seems to come from his lungs with each cough, and the increasingly heavy pain in his chest as the intensity of each barely-restrained episode increases. And it is overwhelmingly relieved by rust-rich saltiness that sticks to his teeth and tongue, for it signals an end… until the next cycle.

"Here."

He does not have to look to know who is offering help in covering up. Taking the white cloth, hurriedly dabbing away damning evidence is as simultaneous as a rush of gratitude… and loathing.

The silence is now anything but restful. It has become a battleground cluttered with invisible warriors and unearthed ghosts, whereby the first side to choke on their defence of proud endurance wins.

It is a fight that Yamazaki Susumu gladly loses.

"How long do you intend to carry on like this?"

This trainee doctor knows, but doesn't understand. Hence he seeks to satisfy this view through the eyes of his greatest irritation, by asking the patient who commands necessary silence.

"Why ask, when you should already know?"

Now it is the interrogator's turn to shut up. He wants absolution that will endure –for becoming an accomplice to this deceit– especially for the time when truth becomes inescapable… to everyone. However, he's not about to admit it. He's never been good with confessions.

There is a faint rustle of leaves as the wind whistles through the branches. Refreshing coolness toys with loose strands of softness, but cannot be as cold as pale skin or solemn faces beneath the moonlight. With careful listening, one can almost hear the sleeping piglets snuffling against their mother in the pen. Do they dream and if so, what would those be like?

The mind wanders to such whimsical questions in these moments, as both sides wait… for an answer.

0o------------------------o0

_**Diedofsevereburns.Headcrushedbyceiling.Strangledbyherownhusband.Bledtodeathinchildbirth-**_

"Watch it, Shinpachi! You nearly shaved the bottom of my belt with your sword!"

"Well, that means you should pay attention in a situation like this, instead of trying to decide which angle is best for ogling Hotaru-san!"

As Heisuke attempts to repay his friend (by using a bamboo sword) with a clout to the head, Tetsu is trying to convince Saitou Hajime to spar with him again. To which the third unit captain either talks about soba or vague shadows with unstable eyes, thus annoying and scaring at the same time. No matter how much this Ichimura Tetsunosuke has grown, full-blown maturity and courage is still a difficult goal.

_**Firesofunrestonlyfuelmorechaos.Soulsthatdonotsleepandresenttheliving-**_

"Che, you are infectious! That reminds me; Okita-san is so much like you these days."

Having the full attention of such droopy eyes is always unnerving, and causes blabber that leaks more than one intended to. Not that his listener minds.

"Er, uh, I didn't mean that as- Well, he's sort of different and similar at the same time. I found brown sugar candy thrown away, which Hotaru-chan got for him. And he likes to go off more by himself… but that reminds me, I have to go buy food supplies with Tatsu-nii, so, uh-"

_**Lovedyouasababy,whydidyounotwaitforme?Hateyourbetrayalofourbeliefs,soletmepluckoutyoureyeballsandribcagetomakemusictowarmusallnightlong**_**-**

Allowing the boy to run off, the man closes both eyes. If Okita-dono is not careful, he will be dealing with the consequences sooner than expected. Not that it can be helped, with that one's caring nature. Trying to protect others and prolong oneself, yet ensure there is still minimal enjoyment so that the more taxing limitations on maintaining balance does not tip…

Some things have to be sacrificed, especially for normality that convinces. But in the end, will it matter? Does it matter?

It is a question that Saitō Hajime find himself asking increasingly, about life and death and anything he ponders, day by day. The knowledge of past, present and future that he gains from the spiritual realm constantly hammers at his consciousness and gives no peace. The end result is:

_**Iseeyoulikeyouseeme.Inthendeverythingturnstodust.Despairdesiredesolationdiediedie-**_

The cracks in his own fortitude are due to a totally different issue from his comrade, whom he needs to betray to heal himself.

After all, the only thing that Sōji has to face is death. Knowing that there might be a loss of sanity to experience… the prospect of helplessness during such a process is far more frightening.

Has anything ever mattered?

_**HahahahahahAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah-**_

0o------------------------o0

Something appears to be moving, at the corner of his eye. Turning his head slightly, Susumu can see that it is merely cards being scattered across the grass by the wind. Ah, he remembers that the previous day, the Ichimura brothers were attempting to build a house of cards on one of the stone benches.

"Those cards are lucky."

Black eyes flicker back towards the man in white. If it were not for the medical training, Susumu might not have noticed but when his experienced teacher pointed certain things out… he realises that the little things are starting to add up and become noticeably serious.

The captain's pale skin has always been the envy of Kyoto and Edo women but now the whiteness seems to have thinned until it is almost translucent, allowing a fragile network of veins to become starkly vivid against snowy smoothness. There is a leaner contour to cheeks that blush so enticingly, and that countenance… without the usual joviality…

Delicately fringed eyes are pools of dangerous darkness.

The sudden indefinable change around this man is so palpable and disturbing that the ex-spy finds himself retreating back a step. And he finds himself looking into twin shadows that are neither a demon nor a god, but-

"Susumu, have you ever seen the wash of waves upon sand?"

This gentleness, the sudden lapse in one's guard; what is Okita Sōji playing at?

"I thought the memories were gone forever, when I took up the sword. Before that, I enjoyed watching the occurrence as a child, while listening to a language I couldn't understand. With each sweep, there is compelling strength and tenderness that pulls one towards the unfathomable. If you are caught and do not fight, the tide pulls you under and eventually takes you away to the unknown. Struggle, but you can never be totally free. Again and again, each caress following the one before only causes the mired to sink deeper. And-"

There is an odd smile on an almost colourless face. And the extent of revealed weariness… makes Susumu aware of an awakening emotion called sympathy. And he is reminded of a lone candle, whose guttering flame flickers in heedless wind.

"I am tired. So… tired."

A light sweat has broken out all over the watcher's body. Although he's not that much younger than this captain, the difference in depth-of-knowledge about life –a cursed blessing that was gifted in blood and sacrifice– between them is finally apparent.

Wide sleeves, reminiscent of the wings of a crane, reach out toward the stunned boy. This person no longer resembles a human. A darkly bejewelled gaze is shrouded in despair, but the rest of his being is cloaked in?

"I have heard the whisper. More frequently than ever, and for the first time, I understand their song. In a lover's embrace again, and finally awaiting eternal slumber beneath the waves… do you see? They are saying…"

No, he does not see. Or rather, he does. That weak smile has suddenly become mesmerising strength. His patient is uplifted in this moment, transcending the flesh to become suspended in immortal spirit, and the reason that preserves a sick man is-

"Come home."

Hope.

0o------------------------o0

Walking back to his room, Sōji falters mid-step. There is a steady light; who could it be? Readying himself just in case, he pushes aside the sliding door, and locks gazes with unblinking calmness.

"Hijikata-san, you're still awake? Shouldn't the elderly, such as yourself, get more rest?"

Seeing imperious dark eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets from his teasing brings on the impulse to laugh. Unfortunately, it turns into a cough halfway. Turning around on the pretext of going to get something to drink, his escape is halted by a firm hand clasping the elbow while being told there is lukewarm tea next to the blankets.

Grudgingly allowing himself to be guided onto the sleeping pallet, one arm encircles his shoulders as the cup is lifted to his lips. Thankfully, there's no blood this time but there are handkerchiefs beneath the blankets, just in case. Not that he dares to reach for them when this one is around.

"If you get any lighter, I could use you as training-weights when going for a run."

"Hijikata-san, I am fine. There's no need to treat me like a baby."

"Hn. You spilled some tea."

"Where?"

A thumb reaches for his mouth, and wipes excess moisture off the lower lip. The contact lingers. They are staring at one another, and then a flustered youth breaks the awkwardness by hastily grabbing white cotton to clean the smidgen of tea off his vice-commander's finger.

_You must not touch. Even now, your life is at risk in this space. How do I warn you, without weighing you down? Even though Hajime knew, he was still willing to- But I have sworn to protect everyone._

"Sōji-"

There is humbling concern in that word, and it only heightens the younger man's sense of isolation and frustration. Why couldn't the enemy be lethally swift, which would be far more merciful than a disease that ravages his lungs and feasts on withheld emotion? Yearning is being drowned by the gibbering voice of reason. Even as his comrade comes closer, rounded fingertips grazing his chin, and lips so close that he can almost taste familiar pleading sweetness-

_Old or young, once it manifests with such tenacity, there is no cure. Chances of deadliness spreading is-No-NO! _

Closing eyelids fly open. A savage shove nearly sends Hijikata Toshizō sprawling, except that his grip on thin wrists are sturdy enough to aid immediate recovery in balance. Dragging the younger man forward and leaning closer, there is no mistake. The smell of fear is almost tangible. An unknown secret is slowly devouring the one he cherishes more than anything in this world. And the unvoiced burden is accelerating frightening deterioration.

The heartbreaking expression on a normally stern visage might just prove to be the fatal crack.

"Sōji, why can't I kiss you?"

0o------------------------o0

Panting, Yamazaki Susumu does not stop running until he reaches the safety of his own room. Pulling the doors shut, he staggers over to a wall and leans against it. Okita Sōji is frightening. For a moment, a little brother had seen his older sister within haunting honesty. That man has chosen to condemn himself, by demonstrating to Susumu that this is something he intends to endure and end… alone.

Can he do it, though? When there are others who are so willing to-

Remembering one particular incident of forbidden sorrow he should not have seen…

It happened not too long ago, during a festival and after a successful mission in Gion. Even when celebrating outside, the members are strongly advised to adhere to moderation in drinking. Whether they actually listen and return on time is another matter. But basically, the headquarters are almost empty when a weary shinobi returns. Unlike the others, he wants to turn in early.

Passing by one of the side gardens, Susumu hears the shrill ring of combat and pauses in trepidation. Who has infiltrated their base, and what is the purpose? Weighing the options of how best to spy without being discovered while formulating a reactionary plan, he eventually slinks up onto the roof, and quiet footsteps warily tread across slippery tiles. Finally choosing the most suitable spot, he looks down.

Jet-black curiosity takes in the sight of light and shadow weaving a myriad web of glinting deadliness, of swordsmanship that speaks a hidden language known only to its users. The utter absorption with which the two stalk each other is arresting. Darting in to stab, leaping out to manoeuvre around, blocking every fatal attack with more precision than the notes of a nightingale, graceful sweep of soft material illuminated by the scarred moon- Is interrupted by coughing that causes one to falter.

Violently deflecting the next thrust, the afflicted man half-runs, half-staggers past the corner around to the nearest wall and rests his forehead against the surface, left hand stretched out and braced against gritty support. A bowed back is animated by short jerks from the strength of his affliction. His opponent is quick to follow, and… And… stops. Both have not sheathed their weapons, forgotten bloodlust dangling by the side. The two are rarely seen together, yet one who seems to be sleepwalking (even when awake) and the other who constantly brims with gaiety always seem to balance each other.

Then it is the third unit captain who approaches, switching hold from left to right in order to allow his blade to meet razor-sharp equal with a gentle clink. The other free hand slowly reaches forward and to the side… to close over fingers digging into an unyielding surface.

What are they waiting for?

Yamazaki Susumu is mesmerised by this picture: unknown tension suffusing the air and somehow emphasised by how rigidly the two do not touch (except for hand, blade and randomly billowing cloth), two pairs of closed eyes, the way breathing has become a painful exercise and the forced emptiness in expression… such restraint seems inhumanly agonizing and makes him want to tell them to do likewise.

And it is impossible to tell who moves first, winding nut-brown beads about pliant fingers until they are entangled. And that complicated knot eventually shifts inwards to rest against a white kimono, slightly left of the centre from the chest. Sparse words are even more puzzling to the watcher.

Coughing having subsided, dry lips are stiff from exertion but are still able to chastise.

"The moon is a lone entity, and should bear no heart."

That only results in countering huskiness that is anything but monotonous, almost like the chrysalis of a caterpillar splitting open to expose-

"The moon will always bear the scar of its surrounding darkness."

Lack of conviction has been answered by gentle certainty, not that it is any less frustrating to their audience. There is much beneath the surface that cannot be understood, as if one grasps at straws to thatch a roof that has too many gaps.

Closed lids fly open to reveal purple eyes, and parted lips whisper a name, except there is no sound. Crossed swords are no longer steady beneath the night sky, but trembling. And Okita Sōji closes his eyes while retreating backwards from non-threatening coolness… as Saitō Hajime steps forward.

Luminous peace leans against quiet night, its marred radiance shining down upon lesser mortals. It is impossible to determine the boundaries between black and white, as the borders appear to waver and melt into each other.

_The moon will always bear the scar of its surrounding darkness. So apt for these two... why?_

"I shouldn't… I'm sorry…"

The light is first to recede. With a vicious twist even as he jerks away, pitter-patter of broken unity rolls across cracked flagstones. And the divide reappears, leaving a lone soul standing in the company of shadows.

Eyes gleam like black flames devouring the stars, revealing a pyre of ash as solitude remains. Thin lips have become an unyielding line of twisted beauty, the painfully simple smile of ruin. Channelled resignation of such… thwarted intention has never burnt more brightly than this very moment. One arm stays outstretched in the direction of his abandonment, empty fingers curved as if still holding a fist. Scattered prayers are useless. Ruefulness goes unheard.

"You always do that."

Susumu cannot bear to spy any further, for the effect of this instance has left him strangely drained. It seems his patient is truly determined not to be a weakness to anyone. A swift death when necessary, and necessary distance in the meantime. From a doctor's viewpoint, that is wise rationale meriting praise. Yet somehow, it seems wrong. Alone.

_Alone. Tetsu, you proved that the concept is not healthy. For the sake of my sister…for Ayu-nee, let me thank your kindness, by passing on the gift you shared with me. _

0o------------------------o0

Each strand is so fine that they appear to have been woven from the skill of spiders. And the colour is reminiscent of a storm-darkened evening, while illuminated by a wandering ray of moonlight. Running his fingers along downy softness up to the scalp, Hijikata Toshizō cannot help the sudden lump in his throat. So light, yet full of remembered dearness… Of gentle affection, mischievous teasing and destructive bloodlust sleeping in his arms. A lolling head is pillowed against his chest, hand resting on his bicep and breath tickling bare skin.

_Weight loss, probably coughing out more than just blood and-Why didn't I see it? Or rather, why did you try to hide it? Did you hope or think I wouldn't notice?_

Staring at skin that is finer than lily petals, the conclusion of immediate observation cuts deeply. Its hue is almost ethereal, as if this one is slipping into the reality that dreams are made of. A dream that only after the most mulish persistence, grants him minimal simplicity for one night. To hold, and no more.

A free hand slides beneath the white kimono and rests over assurance marked by an unfamiliar scar. To feel this steady heartbeat brings a fresh wave of sharp relief and pain, like that time after the Ikeda-ya crackdown. Confronted with the chilling possibility of losing Sōji too soon- He does not dare to think further on it.

For all his questioning, the vice-commander did not receive a direct answer. He will not push his companion whom he has kept a careful watch over, from that one's childhood to adulthood. Rather, he decides to concentrate on the present, and appreciate each day as it comes. And with that, a slight adjustment makes for a relaxing position that is more conducive to slumber.

Shifting slightly against comfortable support, the younger man throws a stealthy glance upwards. His comrade appears to be asleep, but he knows from experience that closed eyes can be misleading. Attempting to inch to one side only causes the arm around his waist to tighten. Giving up, he resists the urge to pinch this overprotective "Hijikata-san" on the nose.

Thin fingers rise to cup a chin that is mildly rough with pre-dawn stubble. The texture is as soothing as playing with little children, but cannot compete with the evidence of infallible strength. Ear pressed to tanned skin, Sōji is buoyed by the sound of vitality resembling confident footsteps on well-worn floorboards. This man is so similar to the other, and leaves one torn between such difficult choices.

The array of thoughts that this comparison brings also seems to sting his eyes. But he will not break his promise. Even if it kills him.

To those who are resting, there is only one question that persists, even as the world falls into peaceful darkness.

_When will I have to let go?_

0o------------------------o0

"_Careful, Hijikata-san! If you don't keep your guard up, I might turn you into a pincushion!"_

_The strident clang of clashing steel brings two opponents face to face. As they stare visual daggers at each other, a light shower of rain signals a cooler summer for 1861._

_With a sly feint, the next slash forces a vice-commander to shift his centre of gravity further to the left… and a mischievous subordinate seizes the paused opportunity to go in the other direction for the umbrella lying quietly atop a pile of pebbles. _

_A rapid flash accompanying deflected light nearly takes off the wrist, but it does not stop __Sōji__ from grabbing the bamboo shaft. Only to have it snatched away at the last second by a scowling superior. Opening the contraption, Hijikata __Toshizō__ swings mobile shelter over his head, then turns and sighs on seeing the other man's expression. Pig-headed mulishness is too familiar. _

"_You'll catch a cold."_

_Raindrops create ripples that spread, overlap and dissolve into blurry opaqueness. Tiny rivulets have become little streams that dip into the river. _

"_Sōji__…"_

_A fierce tug ensures both are now protected from further downpour. A sodden individual shivers, and a sneeze cannot be withheld. A hand grasps fair fingers and wraps them around dry wood, then retains heat by having tanned firmness surround that status quo. Beginning twinges of rebellion is met with… _

"_Stay by my side."_

_Trampled grass blades become a slippery mess beneath their feet. Nothing brooks the mood between two warriors. Until the pounding of translucent wetness seems to echo forever, surrounding them like scattering glass beads and finally rouses the white-robed ronin into smiling. One could scrutinise and make countless deductions, but can only guess at a true answer. _

_Perhaps. _


End file.
